Pregnant Girl | My Hormones Made Me Do It

Pregnant Girl Category

Sep

2009

Knocked Up

There are those few, very few, women who got knocked up so easily it seems all their husbands had to do was look at them. I think my grandma is one of those women; it’s the only explanation I can find for having 7 children. She tells a story where an old neighbor used to ask if they were catholic or careless, turns out they are catholic and fertile as all get out. For most of the women I know getting pregnant takes a little more effort. The efforts range, but I am going out on a limb here to bet that you have a pretty good idea given what you might have had to change and/or give up in the hopes of getting knocked up.

Here’s the thing, one day you will shock yourself because even though you know you’ve been trying, some piece of self preservation will tell you it might not have happened this month and so while you pee on the stick and cuss because it got on your hand you will simultaneously give yourself the pep talk “it’s okay, it takes months for everyone, it will happen” and then you will see +. WHAM, just like that. The test will say positive and while every fiber in your body knows you wanted this more than anything you will feel surprised. Apparently that’s just one of life’s unexplainable certainties. Not to worry because the surprise will quickly turn into insane excitement and here is where you get a little crazy.

As a new Pregnant Girl one of the first things you will do is call your doctor. (Hopefully after you tell your husband since he does deserve half the credit.) You are almost driving to doc’s office as you dial because surely she will want to see you, hug you and celebrate you. Then they answer.

Baby Doctor’s office how can we help you?

I’M PREGNANT!!!!!!

Then the most monotone voice ever will say, congratulations, lets schedule your first appointment for 8 weeks, so let me just look at the schedule here…

Excuse me, I AM PREGNANT, can you believe it? Pregnant! Actually, I can’t believe it either and so I thought the doctor might like to see me and check for herself and tell me exactly what I should do now. Like right now, today, what am I supposed to do?

And then you are left wondering why they aren’t jumping for joy, when deep down you know why. They aren’t the ones who just changed their entire future, right there in one tiny moment of positive your pep talk changed to “it’s okay, we will figure out how to take care of a baby.” And you know what, you will.

Pregnant Girl, Trying to Conceive 4

Sep

2009

One Baby Plus One Thousand New Things

Do you notice how until you become pregnant nobody really talks about ALL the stuff you will apparently need for your baby? The list is endless and I have a sneaking suspicion that most of the stuff will quickly be categorized as c & s, otherwise known as crap and shit that never gets used. I am constantly going through our house tossing the c in the trash and secretly hiding the s before my husband notices I’ve up and thrown it away. Maybe it’s the nesting, but as I fulfill my sudden urge to make labels for everything (i.e. spoons, yeah like my husband had a lobotomy and would never find the spoons if they weren’t labeled, but whatever) I have an even stronger urge to dump the c & s and am having a hard time wanting to replace it with baby sized c & s.

Naturally, I was sure to wait until the weather was perfect and college football was on TV to drop the bomb that we must go register. As we drove to the baby store we actually laughed at the couples who were crazy enough to go home with the random s. Feeling in control and facing a momentary, completely unsubstantiated superiority complex, we made a plan to stick with the basics; onesies, bottles, burp cloths and you get the point. I know you know where this is going, because you are probably Pregnant Girl too and we all become slaves to the baby sized c & s.

Suddenly we need special spoons, a baby bathtub that looks like an oversized bucket I use to mop the floor, a brush just to clean bottles (definitely putting a label on that one), brightly colored keys to shake (and rattle?) at crying baby and a bib that says My Mom is Hotter Than Yours. Why you ask? Why do educated couples everywhere get sucked in? I will tell you, plain and simple fear.

We buy, and if we are lucky enough to have suckers for friends, we register for all this c & s out of pure unadulterated fear. If you leave one random thing off the list you will definitely be stuck in some chic store, having missed the memo that babies are not all the rage with their staff, and your baby will have the mother of all meltdowns. Then the one nice woman in the store, who naturally raised 5 valedictorians, will undoubtedly point out that all you need is that one item, the one that you did not get because it was just another silly, noise making, money sucking, apparent necessity. And if that happens you will feel like a failure. Like you failed at the one job you cannot, will not fail at and so instead, just in case, you carry a diaper bag full of c & s (sometimes literally).

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Pregnant Girl, So Much Baby Gear 4

Aug

2009

Silver Linings (part 2)

My shopper’s high was slightly waning after the unpleasant reality check; you know the part where I realized not every husband celebrates when their wife spends $1,000 on a new maternity wardrobe. If your jaw just dropped and you are thinking I am frivolous and deserve for my husband to freak out let me put it into perspective for you; Olian black pants $65, J Brand maternity skinny jeans $189, Paige maternity Westbourne jeans $202, Ingrid and Isabel leggings $52 and camis $32 + $32, 3 Michael Stars maternity tees at $50 each, 2 Maternal America tops $80 + $72 and a NOM basic black dress $120. So take that and see if you can get dressed for 9 months with 12 new things. No way, no how. In fact, Jessica, my new favorite sales associate, is calling me when the fall fashions arrive.

Anyway, let’s get focused here because my real problem is hubs, not you or your jaw that hit the floor. Husband was not thrilled, you already knew that, but I had still been grasping to a small strand of hope. Picturing a scenario where I tell him I blew a grand and he says model all your new clothes and I will tell you how pretty you look. Then I remembered my husband is a straight man. Instead it was more like we have a budget, we have goals, the long term, yadda yadda, he lost me somewhere between car seats and college. I let him finish, then I asked if he knew what it was like to grow out of 90% of your clothes in 20 weeks. Silence. This is when I really got going.

On a side note, I don’t believe in keeping score in a marriage. We’re a team, he does a little, I do a little and it’s all for the greater good. Pregnancy just is not one of those times where the team philosophy works. It’s more like I do the work and we both reap the benefits.

He had to get me pregnant. I’m not going to spell it out for you, let’s just say I don’t call that giving it up for the greater good, more like just giving it up more often than he has since that first year of dating (or maybe since college, but that was before me and before me doesn’t exist). When the test struck positive he gained a designated driver. That is where his list ends and mine begins.

So far I have gained 16 pounds, an aversion to chicken, a close relationship with the toilet from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., slightly swollen ankles, acne on my back, an absurdly frequent urge to pee, thighs that touch and rub together when I walk, hot flashes, cellulite, stretch marks, porn star boobs (Pam Anderson can keep them as far as I am concerned), midnight cravings for pancakes with chocolate ice cream and heartburn.

So far I have lost the ability to run for more than thirty minutes, sleep on my stomach (the way that I have for 30 years), the enjoyment that was that first cup of coffee every morning (I don’t bother with decaf), wine, blue cheese and guilt free turkey sandwiches (BTW, that lunch meat thing was news to me), my waistline and pretty much my body as I knew it, and the freedom to take an aspirin when I have a headache.

By the end of my rant hubs had programmed Jessica’s phone number into his blackberry; handy for the next time he is crazy enough to question the Pregnant Girl.

Pregnant Girl, What to Wear 0

Aug

2009

Silver Linings (part 1)

I have nothing to wear, NOTHING! Okay, so we might have a case of the girl who cried wolf here. I am going to give my husband the benefit of the doubt and assume that is why he doesn’t sympathize. I have disrespected these five simple words in the past. Stated them because I was bored with my wardrobe or was just having one of those nothing looks good enough kind of nights. Now here I am, knocked up, gaining weight by the day, practically by the minute at this point, and I have nothing to wear is no longer an exaggeration, it is depressingly and frustratingly true.

Hello silver lining, because there is always good news mixed in with the bad. I love to shop. Simple as that. And, I seriously think a shoppers high exists, something like the runner’s high I’ve heard of, but more expensive. I am smiling because I have the ultimate excuse to indulge and unlike the rest of the world (or those I had dinner with last night) I am not too hung over to get an early Saturday start (see, another one of those silver linings just popping up out of nowhere).

I am more of a sprinter than a marathon shopper. I don’t look, I buy. After all, time is money, so if I am saving time I have more money to spend, really it’s just simple math. I have a mental list and am designing items in my head as I drive to a fab (or so I heard from a pregnant friend) store that is stocked with clothes that will fit. Funny how that is suddenly my criteria, I used to search for a specific designer and now I just want to be able to breathe and wear pants all at the same time. It takes awhile to get to the one stylish maternity boutique and by the time I pull up my mental list has become a full blown storyline starring Michael Kors and yours truly complete with theme music to compliment my insanity.

Back to reality, I am here and already feeling giddy. Cue the choir ladies, this is Pregnant Girl heaven. Brands I recognize, made especially for us. I am grabbing at Michael Stars maternity tees, Paige maternity jeans that have a band so secretive nobody will even know they are maternity (don’t worry, you can have them too) and Juicy Couture sweats that are going to cover my growing butt and belly. I have to calm myself down. Picture a six year old shoveling all the candy he can in his mouth before mom comes in and says no more or, even worse, he is forced to share with the other kids. That is me, only we are talking a grown woman and cute clothes that (keyword) fit, and it is like these might be the only stylish maternity items on the planet so I must have them all. One after another they fit and I feel, wait for it…wait, normal. There it is, one little word as important as the aforementioned five. I feel good, even pretty and I must have them all.

As I wait to purchase my new gems I witness a tragic event. The woman in front of me pulls out $100 in cash and two credit cards. She must split the bill three ways so her husband doesn’t realize how much she is spending on her maternity clothes. Gulp, in my excitement I forgot about my hubby and our baby budget. Surely he will understand the necessity…right? Why doesn’t her husband understand? Do any of them understand?

Cliffhanger ladies, I bought them all, took them home and it wasn’t pretty. Come back for part two. His reaction and my reasoning (BTW, my reasons are good, you might even want to keep a couple up your sleeve)…

Pregnant Girl, What to Wear 2

Aug

2009

Milk It?

Almost 6 months pregnant and already I am constantly hearing “are you planning to breastfeed?” Apparently this question goes with everything, for example would you like fries with that, how about something to drink? Are you planning to breastfeed? Do you like heavy starch on your shirts, what day will you be picking them up and are you planning to breastfeed? Or, from the aggressively assumptive crowd it is “how long are you planning to breastfeed?” That one sounds more like, how long have you been waiting in this line, really that long huh, by the way, how long are you planning to breastfeed? I understand that as Pregnant Girl I am a walking billboard for many topics, but I can promise you I do not spend my entire days thinking about nursing, which has me wondering…

Am I shallow, self absorbed, in denial or just so easy breezy that I trust my instincts will kick in and whatever is supposed to happen will in fact happen?

A little of everything I guess. Shallow and self absorbed? Sure, I am not afraid to admit that I am having a really hard time with my new knockers the size cantaloupes, minus the firmness that comes with a nice melon. They seem to weigh more than my husband’s head (if I had to guess anyway) and the chances of me getting through this pregnancy without a self inflicted black eye while jogging are slim to none. I fear the aftereffects; all stretched out and tucked into my low rise jeans. Say goodbye to pretty bras, these suckers are going to need something serious, think heavy duty and I will venture you do not picture lace.

In denial? YES! This reaction is new for me and it arrived after I heard that nursing is worse than labor itself. Are you telling me that a tiny baby sucking can hurt me more than hours of contractions and (okay, take back that tiny part, as I think of what passes through where), but still nursing worse than labor, WTF! I am taking classes, practicing breathing and dreaming of the drugs (yep I am one of those) to get through labor. I figured after that the pain ends the sleepless nights ensue. I was prepared for exhaustion, but not words like sore, clogged and cracked. So yes, given the choice of facing these fears and the alternative, I choose denial with a side of Ben & Jerry’s for the next 14 weeks.

Mostly, I am happy to report, and think my waitress, dry cleaner and lady behind me in line at the grocery store, will sleep better knowing that my easy, breezy attitude overshadows my shallow defiance. I choose to refrain from grand statements such as I must breastfeed for one year or I have failed. I do not declare six months as my magic number nor I am aiming for kindergarten graduation (come on, we know you’re out there). My only certainty is I am somewhere in the middle. I know I will try my best, beyond that all I know is that I will stop long before my baby has enough teeth to enjoy a steak for dinner.

Breastfeeding, Pregnant Girl 6